Wednesday, February 2, 2011

Buy The Damn Flowers: A Man's Guide to V-Day

So here it comes again, that day of disappointment, that looming beacon of romantic expectation and overpriced gestures, the day women dream of and men dread, while the single mock it and those who celebrate it: Valentine's Day. Yes, the big V-Day is upon us again, and the stores are already filled with excessive amounts of pink, bad boxed chocolates and flowery sentiments on greeting cards.

Valentine's Day. Ah, how we women have a love-hate relationship with this day. We know perfectly well that there is really nothing special about it, and unless we are one of the lucky few there will be no heartfelt expressions of endless adoration from the men we love. Logically, we know it doesn't matter, because overpriced flowers and bad candy do not prove love. Of course they don't. But no matter how much we deny it, deep down inside we really just want the gesture.

Here's the thing guys. We love you. We get that you aren't into romance and you think V-Day and all things associated with it are cheesy and dumb. We even know that they really are kind of cheesy and dumb. We know that you prove your love to us in a million different ways every day, from getting up with the kids in the morning to remembering to DVR our favorite show. The thing is, V-Day isn't about proving how much you love us. That's where the confusion starts. We don't expect the flowers, the card, the romantic dinner or the chocolates because they prove you love us. Love isn't about those things. Romance and love, they are two different things.

For most women, romance is something we grew up with. A million different fairy tales, movies, books and love songs taught us that grand romance wrapped up in a fuzzy blanket of undying love was out there for us. And when we found our Prince Charming we would live a beautiful life filled with music and flowers.

Then, reality. The same reality that sunk in when you found out that we were not going to wear 5 inch heels every day and own more worn out cotton Hanes panties than shiny satin thongs. But every now and then, we pull out all the stops and slip into something slutty and completely uncomfortable just for you. It doesn't prove our love, but it sure proves that we get you.

Valentine's Day is the slutty lingerie and porn star heels side of the female coin. Once a year, we just want a little romance. We'd like it a little more often, but most of us don't get it. Maybe a little on our birthday, perhaps the anniversary. But Valentine's Day, it is the one day of the year when romance is practically required by law and you, boys, are out of excuses.

Only you do make excuses. It's so overpriced. It's a Hallmark holiday. It's all just a big commercial hype designed to make money for florists, candy companies and greeting card companies.

Yup. Yup, it is. But unless you start buying us flowers and giving us a little romance year round, come Valentine's Day you are going to have to suck it up and buy the damn flowers. Unless you want to make Valentine's Day unnecessary by celebrating romance at other random times where the V-Day marketing machine is not involved, you are going to have to deal with the inflated prices.

We'll make you a deal. You go buy the damn flowers. We'll put on the damn lingerie. And we'll both pretend for one day that reality never did sink in and we have never heard each other fart, never had an argument over who ate the last cookie, and never fallen asleep in front of the television with popcorn on our laps on a Saturday night instead of snuggling in front of a roaring fire on a bearskin rug sipping champagne. We'll have a little fantasy, ok?

Or, you can just buy the damn flowers, we will say thank you, and life can go on. Until next year. Either way, if you want V-Day to go smoothly, there's a florist in your future.

And by the way, if she told you she doesn't like flowers, agrees they are overpriced, and they are a dumb gift because they die anyway...it doesn't matter. She still wants them. Trust me.

No comments:

Post a Comment